


I Do. I Just Don't Remember.

by WillowPerpetua



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol has Consequences, Drunk Sex, Fluff, M/M, Married in Vegas AU, Matchmaker Natasha Romanov, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, So much wandering around the strip, Thor has a crisis at Treasure Island, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Pays For Everything, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Years of Pining, begins as a High School AU, but heads up anyway, everything is explicitly consented to, potential dubcon warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 18:04:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3946417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowPerpetua/pseuds/WillowPerpetua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After years of mutual pining, Steve and Bucky join their friends on a trip to Las Vegas and make excellent, poor life choices. They discover that what happens in Vegas may not always stay there, but maybe it was never meant to.</p><p>“We’re in Vegas. Las Vegas, Buck! We could do anything. We could get married!”<br/>“You want to?” Bucky asked.<br/>“Why the hell not?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slashtext](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashtext/gifts).



**Steve**

Steve watched Bucky fall into his seat, just seconds before the bell split the air around them with an ear shattering ring. The hem of Bucky’s shirt rose just enough to reveal a sliver of skin, pale from the winter months, as he stretched and yawned. Steve was wide awake.

“Morning.” Steve said, listening to the rest of the class file in around them. They didn’t matter. None of it mattered. All that was important was that this was it, the end of the line. They had made it to the last day of their high school education, alive and well. They had survived.

Bucky grunted in greeting, still dreaming of the bed that he left behind, probably still warm. In his last years of high school, long past any hope for it, Steve finally reached his long-awaited growth spurt. It had not stopped him from sharing Bucky’s bed whenever they spent the night together, most weekends, and on the weeknights when schoolwork kept him over at the Barnes’s late.

He knew how warm that bed could get and just how it smelled. Steve longed for it more often than he wished to be in his own, no matter how tired he was. He always slept better at Bucky’s. He couldn’t blame Bucky for wishing he was still in bed.

Bucky’s sleepy eyes caught him staring and crinkled up around the edges in a smile.   
“Just a matter of hours, now.” He said before putting his head down on the desk to wait it out.

The day was more ceremonial than anything. It was not as if any of their teachers expected them take in any education thrown in their direction when freedom hang, so tantalizingly, just outside the doors. To the graduating seniors of their class, it meant the world just to have reached the day, but to Steve, it signified a quiet kind of accomplishment that he held closer to the chest.

Steve Rogers had silently suffered the pangs of a secret and unrequited love for the past four years. Worse, this feeling, so overwhelming he sometimes wondered how he managed to breathe through it (coupled with his asthma), and so disabling that it left him compromised in all but the most basic of tasks, was for none other than his life-long best friend.

Bucky Barnes was blissfully unaware of the all-encompassing crush that Steve had harbored for him over the course of their high school career. Each and every one of Steve’s actions was dismissible—chalk them up to devoted friendship and call it a day. That was the beauty and the tragedy of Steve’s feelings. They had grown so organically from his most cherished friendship that he seldom could tell where the platonic love ended and his romantic affection began.

“Yeah.” Steve said, pushing his feelings down to the basement of his mind where they belonged. “We are almost home free.”

“Think you can stand it without getting yourself in trouble?” Bucky asked.

“Not a chance.” Steve said, laughing and shaking his head.  There were many things at which Steve excelled: art, group projects, even sports as much as he was loath to actually play them. When it came to staying out of trouble, however, Steve failed before he even began.

Natasha found Steve at lunchtime, an unusual joviality in her smile, replacing her normal tongue and cheek attitude with something more genuine.

“Hey Steve, think fast.” She said, tossing an apple to him. He caught it and took a bite, waxy and tart.

“Where’s your shadow?” She asked.

“Helping the new president of the engineering club set up shop.” He said. As he spoke, a smile which betrayed his softer, mushier feelings about Bucky and his pastimes shone through. Natasha shook her head fondly.

“Nerd.” She joked.

“I know.”

“Yeah. I know, too, Steve. I know, too.”

Steve had hoped that they would never speak about it out loud. He hoped, naively, perhaps, that they would communicate in metaphors and with wordless glances, never commenting upon how frequently Steve’s sketchbooks filled up with pictures of Bucky, or how his smile became just a little brighter whenever Bucky entered a room. Natasha was too perceptive to ever hope to lie to her, but after so many years running under the radar of total honesty, Steve hoped that they might be living this shared half-truth together. No such luck.

“You’re not going to tell him, are you?” Steve asked. She placed a hand on his arm and looked into his eyes with a calculated intensity that made him feel as if his soul were under a magnifying glass.

“That is for you to do, Steve.” She said.

Tony Stark came blustering into the cafeteria with that smarmy look that made Steve’s stomach churn. They had had their disagreements throughout the years, and by far one of the greatest things about leaving this school was the knowledge that life would certainly lead them in different directions. Tony would undoubtedly be heading off to any of his choice of Ivy League schools. Between his remarkable grades for somebody with his social life, and his daddy’s money, not even the sky was the limit.   
Meanwhile, Steve was thrilled to have been offered a scholarship to art school.

It wasn’t about the money. It was about everything that came with it. The way that Tony Stark walked around the school as if he owned the place ate away at Steve. If he never heard that smug voice again, it would be too soon, he thought, and then it was sounding as loud as brass at the table behind him.

“…you know Maria’s a prude, Rhody. Everybody knows Maria’s an uptight prude. What have I been telling you for years? Time to give it up and move on to greener pastures. Right Pepper? Isn’t that what I’ve been saying?” His cronies laughed around him, not because it was funny so much their programming told them to any time they were cued to laugh. It was part of their job.

“I don’t know, Tony. Can you drop it?” Pepper’s voice drifted over, quiet and unsettled.

“I’ll drop it when I feel like it.” He said, unmoved. “Didn’t know you two were friends.”

“We’re not.” Pepper said. “I just don’t—“

“Then it doesn’t matter.” Tony went on. “Anyway, Rhody, don’t feel too bad. With that volleyball scholarship that Maria got, I’m pretty sure she’s contractually obligated to become a lesbian anyway. You never had a—“

“Hey!” Steve swiveled around in his chair. “You want to shut up?” Steve felt ready to breathe fire. Tony looked him up and down with an expert coldness.

“No. I don’t think I do. Thanks, though.”   
  
“You have no right to go running your mouth about Maria. After four years in school with her, I bet you have said three words to her together. And she earned her way into college, unlike some people. You should show a little respect.” Steve said it all in one breath, standing before he knew what he was doing, fists clenched at his sides. Everybody at Tony’s table rose in unison, except for Pepper who sat rigid and alert.

“You want to clarify that a little, buddy?” Tony asked. “Are you saying my 4.0 didn’t earn me anything? You really want to go there?”

“Sure.” Steve said. “Let’s talk about it with your private tutors. Maybe your dad can show up for the conference and intimidate us a little.”

The punch came from Obadiah and landed hard on the left side of Steve’s jaw. He met the floor with a loud smack and heard Natasha call his name, sounding far away and fuzzy. He got up slowly, but smiling.

“What?” He turned back to Tony. “Not even going to fight for yourself? Going to let your buddies do the beating for you?”

Another punch came, expected this time. The whole cafeteria had gone quiet. Steve did not fall to the floor, but staggered back slightly from the impact. Still, he waited for Tony to make his move, although he made a mental note to pick a fight with Obadiah at the next opportunity. Throwing the first punch in a fight that wasn’t even his was beyond uncool.

As Obadiah raised his arm to throw another punch, Steve saw a blur of color as a body leaped in front of him and tackled Obadiah to the ground. It took Steve and two teachers to wrestle Bucky away from the fight.

“You just couldn’t stay out of trouble, could you?” Bucky asked, smiling at Steve’s split lip through a darkening black eye.

 

**THREE YEARS LATER**

**Bucky**

Steve was turning twenty-one and all Bucky Barnes could think of was the envy that he felt for the bottle when Steve’s lips lowered and parted on it, almost like a kiss.

He drank with the slightest hint of a satisfied smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Self-satisfied in his age and legality. Not as if he and Bucky had not been sneaking back alley beers together since the tender age of sixteen. It was the principle of the matter that made Steve smile, and made Bucky’s heart beat out a drumroll in his chest; the honest way that they could both walk into a bar and sit down together without a second thought. It made Steve happy, and that made Bucky happy.

“Was it worth the wait?” Bucky asked.

“Like hell, Buck” Steve said, his voice thicker than usual with his Brooklyn accent, deep, and with a deadpan kind of humor settled in it. “You know damn well we never waited.” He said. Bucky rose his bottle in a toast while Natasha sauntered up to the table with three shot glasses.

“Vodka.” She said, placing one down in front of each of them and taking her seat.

“What?” Bucky asked. “No chaser?” He looked around as if looking would make one magically appear. Natasha swept a lock of crimson hair aside with a firm shake of her head.

“No.” She turned to Steve. “You wanna be taken seriously, you gotta know how to drink your liquor. Take the shot and don’t make a face. Let it warm you up from the inside out and appreciate it, okay?” She said.

“You’re a god damn poet, Natasha.”

“Can it, Barnes. This is valuable Russian wisdom from my Babushka. You planning to go against Mama Romanoff?”

“No ma’am.” Bucky laughed.

“Cheers.” Steve said, and downed the shot. Bucky tried not to watch the way he threw his head back, or how he swallowed it. He did not succeed. He drank his own shot in one fluid motion, practiced and controlled.

Over the past year or so, Bucky had cause to learn practice and control around Steve. They had always shared everything with each other. From their loftiest aspirations and deepest fears, to the most fleeting thoughts that passed through their heads and each embarrassing moment; everything was on the table. They had no secrets. Not until Bucky found that his whole world could be balanced on the tip of a pin whenever Steve entered a room, and he felt swallowed up by his absence whenever he walked back out of it again.

There came a point, and Bucky could not say when it was exactly, when he knew that something had shifted in the way that he saw Steve. They were certainly best friends—no amount of life could ever change that—but he felt like another dimension had been layered onto that relationship, and worse, like he, Bucky, was the only one who could see it.

When he was not with Steve, he wondered what Steve was doing. He caught himself waiting for every moment that he might get to spend with his best friend. In the time that he did get to spend with Steve, he looked for ways to squeeze every drop from their minutes together.

 It felt wrong to keep a feeling of such significance to himself. If it were about anybody else, Steve would have been the first person he told, and he probably never would have shut up about it. Since Steve was the unwitting recipient of these feelings, he did not know what to do with them, and so they festered in an unlabeled drawer in Bucky’s mind and nowhere else.

Tony Stark, Clint Barton, and Sam Wilson entered the bar a moment later. Tony Stark had undergone many changes over the years. Inheriting his father’s company as a wide-eyed and underprepared nineteen year old had been a challenge, but it had the benefit of knocking a lot of compassion and common sense into him. He learned quickly who his real friends were and who he needed to ditch. Obadiah became a thing of the past, than god.

Bucky was the last person in the group to join Team Tony, but Steve saw something in him worth perusing, and that spoke volumes.

“You started without us?” Tony asked, looking crestfallen.

“You’re late.” Steve smiled up at him. Bucky batted away the pang of jealous that clawed at his belly. There was no use, really, and besides, Steve was allowed to be friends with other people. He was just being selfish.

“What is it? Three minutes past midnight?” Sam asked.

“Fifteen.” Clint said, glancing up at the clock.

“You’re here now, right?” Steve said, standing up and launching himself at Tony, his arms outstretched to pull him in for a hug. It was so out of character, so unexpected, that Tony allowed himself to be hugged, standing still and straight, staring over Steve’s shoulder with wide eyes.

“How much has he had?” He asked Bucky.

“Two.” Bucky said.

“Let’s fix that, shall we?” Natasha said, “Come on, Barnes.” She pulled him toward the bar with her and waited while they flagged down a bartender.

“What was that back there?” She asked. Bucky felt caught in a trap. If he said nothing, Natasha would know he was trying to pull a fast one—Natasha always knew. Telling would be telling, though, and he was not sure if that was even what she was after. He settled on avoidance after silence that lasted a beat too long.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” He said.

“Sure you don’t.” She said, leaning her head on his arm, watching Clint laughing with the rest of the boys. “Look, Bucky.” She said. “I am no stranger to the whole unrequited l—“

“Nope.” Bucky interrupted. “I am not in… you know what, we’re not even using the L word. _That_ L word.” He cast his gaze around, and it landed on a bowl of lime wedges behind the bar. “Okay. Limes.” He said. “There are no limes between me and Steve.” He shook his head to emphasize the point. Natasha laughed.   
“Do you know how stupid you sound?” She asked. “Also, I was not done. What I was saying was, I get it. I know that look.” She said. He watched her face, usually so unreadable, as the mask slipped slightly.

There was a certain vulnerability in the way that she watched Clint from across the room and he hoped to god he did not wear a similar look when he thought Steve couldn’t see him. Somehow, he was sure that it was exactly what he looked like.

“Thanks, Nat.” Bucky said before they grabbed the shots and carried them back to the table.

 

**THREE YEARS LATER:**

  
**Steve**

Steve watched the lights of the Strip glow up from the darkness as they began their decent into Las Vegas. Coming from a life in New York, he was no stranger to city lights, but their hypnotic nature was something that he appreciated, especially from above. Bucky, on the other hand, shut his eyes and rested his head against the seatback, taking deep steading breaths through his nose.

He squeezed the hell out of Steve’s hand. Steve had long since lost the feeling in his fingers, but he gave no thought to letting go. Bucky’s fear of heights had tormented him for years. He couldn’t have guessed it would be so bad on a plane.

“We’re almost there, Buck.” Steve said, hushed, almost reverent. “You should see it. It’s something.”   
Bucky let out a quiet huff of a laugh.

“I’ll see it when we’re on the ground.” He said through gritted teeth.

They landed smoothly and without incident. A loud ding preceded the crackle of the pilot’s voice in the speakers telling them to keep their seatbelts fastened as they taxied to the gate. Steve shook out his hand and massaged his cramped fingers, trying not to feel the cold air too keenly where Bucky’s warmth had been. Natasha bumped into him as they made their way to the gate.

“I saw that.” She said.

“Saw what?” He asked before seeing the mischievous look in her eyes. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“I never sleep.” She whispered as she swept past him toward the baggage claim where Bucky waited with Tony, Clint, Thor, Sam, and Bruce.

_For as long as they could remember, they talked about taking a vacation together. At first, it had been road trip after graduation. Bucky, Steve, Natasha, and Sam had grand plans to get a Winnebago and see the Great United States together as it was meant to be seen, by poor, wasted teenagers on their way to college. Then the plans got extended._

_When Tony came on board, after their first year of college, they made plans to go to Europe together. They would backpack, or they would stay in… well, the debate always came down to hostels or hotels. Roughing it or staying at the Ritz. The difference between affordability and affluence threw up road bocks left and right, and so another year went by without their group adventure. They did, however, gain Bruce._

_A year or so later, Thor joined their ranks, and with him, tales of Scandinavia. He told them stories about his childhood growing up in a place they were all vaguely unsure how to pronounce (he laughed every time they tried and assured them that they each had it wrong, although they had credit for trying). They knew that they wanted to visit as soon as they could, but soon became later and that later had a fuzzy date that shifted with the seasons. Thor went home whenever he could but never took guests._

_So the eight of them continued to plan for vacations that did not happen until Tony got tired and took matters into his own hands._

_“Here.” He said, throwing a stack of paper down onto the pizza box on the middle of the table one evening._

_“What’s this?” Sam asked, eyeing the colorful brochures._

_“Vegas.”_


	2. Chapter 2

The limousine felt more like a bus. Tony would not hear a word from anybody about the free shuttle from the airport directly to the hotel.

“Are you kidding me?” He said while the driver loaded their things in against everybody’s objections.

“We are not even having this conversation.” He rolled his eyes before settling into the comfort of his seat and looking meaningfully at the rest of the group.

“It’s a waste of money.” Steve said.

“It’s Vegas. That’s what we’re here to do.” Tony said.

They rolled down the Strip toward their hotel in classic style. Even through the heavily tinted windows, the lights were stunning.

“We should open the sun roof so Natasha can stick her head out.” Sam said.

“Why Nat? Why not one of us?” Bruce asked.

“Well, nobody wants to see any of our ugly mugs.” Steve answered.

“Uh, guys?” Natasha said, a tentative tone taking over her voice for the first time that they could recall. Everyone snapped to attention, whipping their heads around to look at her.

“What’s wrong?” Steve and Clint asked in unison.

“I may have not been completely honest with you about something.” She said, before taking a deep breath. Still, a smile lurked just out of reach. Whatever it was couldn’t be too bad.

“So, last summer,” She started, “I kind of dropped off the map for a while, right?”

“I thought we weren’t allowed to talk about—“ Clint said.

“You’re not.” She said. “And I am not going to talk about it. Not really.” She shook her head, red curls bouncing around her shoulders. “The thing is, we are going to have to avoid certain casinos, okay?”

“Why?” Tony asked. If there was anything Tony could not abide, it was a mystery. Already, the rest of the vehicle was full of his near-vibrating energy, as if the only thing he could imagine doing now was poking this with a stick.

“Nat just said she’s not explaining, so we’re not going to ask, okay?” Bucky said through gritted teeth.

“Go on, please.” He added.

“Okay. That’s all, really. Just—the Bellagio and the Palazzo, mainly. Maybe a few strip clubs we should stay out of. If there’s anywhere else, I’ll let you know.”

“Hang on.” Tony said, throwing a finger into the air. “Is this a mob thing?” Tony asked, point blank. Natasha didn’t even flinch. “Because if you have a problem with the mob, you picked a damn good time to let us know, Natasha.”

The limo pulled around to drop them off at the Stark Tower, a spire of glass that reached into the heavens, emblazoned with Tony’s family name. They missed the grand opening only a few months ago, but it was still the newest and shiniest building on the Strip.

Walking in, they were met by an onslaught of chrome and glass, both ostentatious in its opulence and at the same time, perfectly in balance. It served to create a space that was as tasteful as they were likely to find. Tony smiled, surveying the impressed expressions on his friend’s faces. Even Natasha couldn’t hide her approval.

“You done good, Stark.” Sam said, clapping him on the back. “I could get used to this.”

“I don’t think I could.” Steve said.

They were checked in and ushered to their rooms—adjoining suites that put every apartment Steve had ever lived in to shame—in a seamless orchestration of hospitality.

“This is a _view._ ” Bucky said, resting his forearm against the panel of glass stretching from floor to ceiling and all the way along one wall of the room he shared with Steve. The double beds felt strangely like home, although they had never shared a room officially. They might as well have for all the nights they spent at one or the other’s house as kids.

Steve dangled his feet off his own bed, torso stretched out along the crisp white bedding. “All I can bring myself to care about is this bed. Do you think I can convince Stark to get one for me? I’m sure he could do it.”

“Steve.” Bucky turned around, “You don’t want these beds.”

“No, Buck, I think I do. They’re so comfortable.”

“Think about what they have seen. If these beds could talk—“

“Oh god. Shut up.” Steve groaned and threw a pillow at him just as Tony made his way into their room.

“Pillow fight?” He asked. “And I wasn’t invited?”

“I was just wondering—“

“Bucky, don’t.” Steve said.

“…how much sex these beds have seen in their lifetimes.” Bucky continued over Steve’s objections.

“I’m not going to sleep so well after all. Excellent, Bucky. Well done. Now I’ll be thinking about… that.” Steve finished limply. Tony considered the matter for a moment before flopping down next to Steve.

“Well,” he said. “The hotel only opened about four months ago.” He went silent for a moment, as if calculating the data in his head. “So they have definitely had more action than anybody we know will ever get in their lives.” He said. “Except for me, obviously.” Steve groaned and rolled away from Tony, rising from the bed. Sam poked his head into the room with a curious expression.

“You’re not tired, are you?” He asked shaking his head. “Nat sent me to see what was taking so long.”

“We got distracted by the sex beds.”

“Sex beds?”

“Never mind.” Steve said with a finality that left the rest of the room in total silence. “Where are we going?”

“I don’t know.” Sam said. “Wherever Nat will let us, I guess. She said to dress sharp, though.”

“Oh.” Steve said. “How sharp, exactly?” The question spoke as loudly as Steve’s glance toward his suitcase, where a series of casual pants and shirts that rested just a little closer to the tight side of the spectrum were nestled together. There was nothing he would exactly call elegant.

“You’re telling me you didn’t bring anything nice to wear?” Bucky asked.

“Don’t worry about it.” Tony shrugged. “If there is one thing I know about, Steve, it is suits.” He turned to Bucky. “You watch him for a while. We’re going to get started without you.”

Bucky raised his arms and his eyebrows simultaneously, asking “what the hell?” without really asking, but they knew it was a pointless argument.

Tony would have a suit, several suits likely, sent up, and Natasha would insist on Steve taking him up on it, and everybody would get what they wanted. Steve would get to stay in the hotel a little longer and Bucky would get to, well, Steve wasn’t sure what Bucky would get out of the equation exactly, but this was how things worked in their circle of friends. Like the Vegas trip itself, these things were non-negotiable and somehow it worked out for the better because of it. Tony Stark was a catalyst for that. 

Steve collapsed on the bed again when Sam and Tony departed with the promise not to have too much fun without them.

“How much room service do you think we could order on Tony’s tab?” Steve asked the moment the door closed.

“Jesus, Steve. First you want to steal his hotel beds and now you’re trying to fraudulently order room service? What’s gotten into you?” Bucky asked, kicking off his shoes and joining Steve on his bed.

“Well, you know,” Steve said, “What happens in Vegas.”

He turned his head to smile at Bucky and realized that they were closer than he expected, nearly nose to nose on a bed that was certainly big enough for the two of them. For years, Steve felt confident in how solid his friendship with Bucky was. Like a pillar of his life, he rarely considered it at all. Bucky was just there, a permanent presence on whom he could depend entirely.

Long gone were the days when he had to force back thoughts that threatened the foundation of that relationship. Steve could not remember the last time that close proximity to his best friend had given him reason to pause, either for the thrilling rush that Bucky used to send through him at each brush of their hands, or because of the pangs of guilt and regret that coursed through Steve like poison whenever he spent too long in his fantasies about feelings he knew were not returned. Steve assumed he grew out of it.

He swallowed hard, watching Bucky’s lips curl into a smile, and felt the stirring of old feelings like the awakening of a sleeping beast deep at the back of his mind.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked. “Are you feeling okay? We could stay in tonight. I am sure Stark won’t make fun of you too much.”

“Well now I have got to go out.” Steve rolled his eyes. “But yeah, I’m fine.” He said, then reconsidered.

“Maybe the airplane didn’t agree with me or something.”

“That’s quite the delayed reaction you’ve got there.” Bucky said.

Suited up in the deep navy number that Tony had sent up along with a price tag which made Steve cringe and put Bucky into a state of hysterics, they set out to join the rest of the gang. Steve reached into his pocket to text Clint for their location and felt his phone buzz, almost like it had been anticipating his need.

 _At the roulette in the casino downstairs._ Clint texted.

 _Hurry. Stark is having too much fun._ The follow up text came just a moment later.

“You any richer?” Steve asked when they arrived, standing by Tony’s elbow.

“No. Natasha keeps telling me to bet on black.” He said. Steve and Natasha shared a knowing look behind Tony’s head, and Steve felt positive that the last thing Natasha had been doing during Steve’s absence was supplying Tony with gambling advice.

“You look good.” She said, her voice raised over the commotion of the casino.

“Oh, this old thing?” Steve asked, showing off the suit. “Thanks.” He said, mostly to Tony, who was already drawn back into losing his money.

“I want a drink.” Clint said. “You think we should find ourselves a bar?”

“They’ll bring you a drink here.” Tony said.

“Yeah but that’s not the point.” Natasha said. “Come on, Tony.” She said as they dragged him away.

“You can come back and lose some more later.”

They made their way down the street together in a pack, weaving through the dense crowd of people and trying to stay together as much as possible. The input flooded Steve’s senses, overloading him with information, from the variety of bright lights and loud music blasting from every open door, to the myriad scents that drifted past them out of carts and from restaurants as they strolled. Mostly, though, Steve was aware of the crushing number of people.

The street was lined with bored looking people calling out things he couldn’t quite make out, holding stacks of fliers and passing them out with the kind of fervor he associated with passionately devout proselytizers, only somehow, Steve had trouble imagining that these folks were planning to ask him if he had accepted Jesus as his Lord and Savior. He took the card as he walked by anyway with a nod of thanks.

Bucky looked down at Steve’s hands as they walked.

“You sure are getting a collection of those.” Bucky said, looking at the cards covered in women in varying states of undress, advertising shows and clubs.

“It seems rude to say no.” Steve said. Bucky laughed and shook his head.

“You’re too nice for your own damn good, Steve.”

They were all comfortably nestled into the largest booth, all the way at the back of an overly lush and underlit bar when Natasha sent Steve and Bucky to get the drinks.

“Why us?”

“You dare to question me?” She asked. For a moment, something in Steve thought to wonder if Nat was entirely joking. Then he realized how much it didn’t matter—he had been doing her bidding for years and would keep doing it, mob connections or no. She shook her head “No, really it’s ‘cause you two are on the end.” She said.

“Right.” Bucky said, and got up with the drink orders fresh in his mind.

“So is it what you expected?” Steve asked Bucky as they waited on the bartender who was loaded down at the other end of the bar by an excited bachelorette party.

“I can’t tell if it is tackier or classier than I thought it would be.” Bucky answered, looking around at the décor, offset by the screaming bridesmaids.

They drank and walked and took in the sights, wandering until they found themselves growing tired, and then, miraculously, they were back where they had started. Stark Tower waited patiently for them, hovering above them. Knowing that Tony’s name was written among the stars, laying claim to the city felt at once comforting, as if he were watching over them, and also vaguely menacing. There was nowhere to hide. He laughed to himself at the thought.

“What’ss sof funny?” Bucky asked, his words slurred slightly by the last peach daiquiri that he had ordered without shame or apology. “Just that our friend owns a hotel.” Steve said in his own sluggish, messy way, and Bucky laughed. He followed Steve’s patterns of thought, sober or not. 

“Hey!” Sam yelled, stopping dead in his tracks, causing a traffic jam in their group. “Where’s Thor?” He asked, looking around.

“Oh god.” Natasha said, cradling her head in her hands.

“Sweet Jesus. No.” Tony shook his head.

“I haven’t seen him since…” Bruce said.

“Treasure Island.” Clint supplied.

“Steve. Bucky.” Natasha said, “Go find Thor.”

“Why us?” Bucky asked, looking around at the rest of the group with a hopeful expression, as if somebody else might volunteer to search through the endless throng of people for their friend. Nobody did.

“Because the two of you will be a lot faster than all of us. Also I’m tired.” Natasha said.

“Come on.” Steve said, putting his arm around Bucky’s shoulders “The sooner we find him, the sooner we can crash. ‘Sides. He’s basically a Viking. Not subtle.”

They looped back around, and sure enough, spotted Thor right away standing outside of Treasure Island, looking overcome with an abandoned kind of sadness that looked as foreign on him as he did in America.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked, sitting down on the curb next to Thor in an uncharacteristically friendly gesture of support.

“They canceled the pirate show.” Thor said, hanging his head. “This is most distressing.”

“The…” Bucky began “The pirate show?” He looked at Steve. “He’s really this upset over the thing where they made the ship sink and all the sexy pirate ladies danced around and actually, yeah. The more I talk about it, I think I kind of understand.”

“I frequently spoke of the pirate show with my brother. We loved pirates as children. We sometimes spoke of coming here together to watch the show and imbibe copious amounts of alcohol.” Thor said.

“Well.” Steve said, looking for the right words to use in such a situation. “Of course you did. I’m sorry they canceled the pirate show.” Steve offered a hand and pulled Thor to his feet. He was heavier than he looked, and he looked pretty damn heavy. “Let’s get you back to the hotel, okay?”

“That is very kind of you, Steve.” Thor said, clapping him on the back hard enough to knock the wind out of him. His expression of sadness switched to a contented smile only moments later. “It is a fine thing to have such drinking partners. All should have such luck.” He said, putting one arm around Steve and the other around Bucky as they made their way back to Stark Tower.

They dropped Thor off and stumbled to bed. Steve’s world spun and tilted around him as he lowered slowly and carefully into bed, watching the shape of Bucky outlined in the darkness across the room from him. He smiled, sleepy and slow. It was the kind of smile that he would not share with the world but kept hidden in the dark and smothered into his pillow as he rolled over and into the gracious arms of sleep.

**Bucky**

Bucky started to feel tired of Vegas on their second day. Perhaps it was more apt to say that he was tired of his hangover, which was a biting and cruel one that left no doubt just how far he had pushed himself the night before. Anything, he thought, as long as he remained quietly in his own mind. He thought back over the course of last night’s events, head pressed hard into the cool, starchy pillow, and tried to recall if he had been too honest, with Steve in particular. 

No, Bucky thought, he had maintained the barrier that kept his world in neatly organized categories. The worst that had happened was a canceled pirate show. Steve remained his usual touchy-feely drunk self, but Bucky remained immune and all was right with the world.

Steve rolled over, threw an arm across his face to shield his eyes from the light, and let out a low, deep groan. It was typical Steve Rogers behavior, especially in the morning. He could not have known how much Bucky resented him for it, especially in the morning. He rolled his eyes and smiled to himself, the kind of sappy smile that he would never allow when Steve was looking.

“You too, huh?” He asked.

“Ugh.” Steve said, and left it at that.

“Really, Tony?” Steve was saying into his phone as Bucky emerged from a shower, feeling slightly more like a human being. “Do we have to?” Steve paused to share the look with Bucky, the look they always shared over Tony’s ridiculous schemes before rolling his eyes. “Yeah. Okay. Meet you there in twenty.” He said before hanging up.

“What was that?” Bucky asked, feeling a little cautious.

“Tony wants us all to have brunch.”

“Oh.” Bucky said, unsure if he was ready for food yet.

“Yeah. At a buffet.”

“Oh god.” Bucky groaned.

“I know.” Steve agreed.

By the time they reached the restaurant, both Steve and Bucky had become ravenous, craving all the greasy breakfast food on earth and they seemed to have found the source of such wonderful things. The smell hit them like heaven when they walked in. Steve and Bucky seemed to be the only ones who had reached such a level of recovery.

“Hey guys.” Steve said, clapping his hands together. “How’s it going?” He asked, perhaps in a tone that rang too cheerfully for the time of day and the company present.

“Go fuck yourselves.” Natasha said, looking absolutely green.

“Nat’s not doing so hot.” Clint said. It was a bold move, underscored by the truth of his words. Any other time, he might have been hit with a swift smack to the back of the head, but she let it rest, nodding agreement and slouching against him in the booth.

“I hate all of you.” She said. “Never let me drink appletinis ever again.”

“Duly noted.” Sam said, falling into his seat. “Stark, I hope you realize that you picked the one restaurant where we actually have to walk to get our food. Was that some kind of sick joke?”

“Come on, guys. Walk it off.” Steve said, picking up his plate and heading off toward the stacks and stacks of bacon and French toast.  Bucky followed, feeling ready to give this day another chance.

“Okay. Day two.” Steve said when he and Bucky returned to the table, pouring himself some coffee.

“What are we doing?”

“I was thinking about getting us tickets to see a Cirque du Soleil” Natasha said.

“Pfft.” Clint said, waving a hand through the air.

“Did you just _pfft_ Cirque du Soleil?” Natasha asked.

“Well. I mean, yeah. I can do all that stuff. Why would I pay fifty bucks to watch a bunch of French dudes in ugly unitards do it?” Clint asked, shrugging.

“Bullshit.” Sam and Tony said in unison.

“No. Really. I mean, I was in the circus. We’ve been over this. Circus stuff does nothing for me. I just feel anxious the whole time because I am afraid I have missed my cue.”

“Okay. Whatever, Bird Boy.” Tony said.

As the day progressed and everyone regained their sea legs, Bucky found that Natasha’s requests continued to follow him no matter what they were doing. At first, he wrote it off as simple Natasha. Why do something yourself when you can get somebody else to do it for you? Normally Bucky admired her for this attitude. Soon enough, he started to wonder.

“Bucky.” She said from the slot machine next to his.

“Mhm.” He replied without paying much attention. They just sat down, after all. She couldn’t possibly need something already.

“I should have got more tokens.” She said, handing him some money. “The lot of us are going to burn through these in about a second.” She said, looking into the bucket that they all pitched in for. To be fair, there weren’t a whole lot in there. He took the money. “Take Steve.” She said. Steve perked up at hearing his name.

“Huh?” He asked.

“Go with Bucky.” She said.

“Okay.” He shrugged.

They walked away from the rows and rows of machines, all blinking and jingling, hypnotizing everybody trying to enter or leave the casino.

“Do you get the feeling Natasha is trying to get rid of us?” Bucky asked under his breath.

“Huh?” Steve said again. “Oh. I hadn’t noticed.” He spoke with a forced kind of nonchalance that Bucky knew to mean the exact opposite. Steve had definitely noticed.

Due to Clint’s staunch resistance of any of the Cirque du Soleil shows presented, they went to see Blue Man Group. Bucky resisted making any and all Arrested Development references for a solid three seconds after they took their seats before the temptation rose too high. How many times do you think they say “I just blue myself.” backstage? He asked.

“What?” Steve sputtered. “You—“

“No.” Bucky said, doubled over in his seat, “Remember? From…” but the hysterics set in again.

“I can’t take you two anywhere.” Natasha said, elbowing Bucky in the ribs. “Okay. Bucky.” She said. “Get me a soda. Steve, I don’t know, help him carry it back or something.”  They left without argument, fighting the crowd and the clock to make it back to their seats in time.

“You think they have an endgame?” Bucky asked while they waited in line.

“Well, you know Natasha. She has a reason for everything.” Steve said. Bucky wondered, not for the first time, how Steve managed to have so much faith, but even he could not fail to have faith in Nat. Steve’s willingness to believe the best in people, however, was a trait that they did not have in common. “I am sure it’s. I don’t know, funny maybe? If it were Tony who was up to something, I might be worried.”

“You don’t think Tony is in on it?”

“I don’t think so.” Steve said. “Stark is easy to read.”

“I guess we’ll just have to keep our eyes peeled.” Bucky said, reaching into his wallet and stepping up to the front of the line.

They poured out of the theater with the rest of the crowd in a euphoric, mystified state, still overcome by the performance.

“I still don’t understand the whole blue thing.” Sam said.

“Well,” Thor said, “I suppose The Man Men Group doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.”

“Or the same meaning.” Tony said. “That would be a very different kind of show. But, you know, whatever spins your propeller, Thor. I am sure we could find one of those next.”

“I think I’m going to call it a night.” Steve said. Bucky could feel the heat radiate off of him and knew just by the strangled quality of his voice that he was blushing. “But you all should go.”

“Tony’s kidding, Steve.” Bucky said. “You are kidding, right?” He clarified.

“I was, but now I’m not so sure.” Tony said. Natasha gave him a punishing glare that quieted him with stunning immediacy.

“Yes. Tony’s kidding.” She said with the kind of force that put the matter away and forbade anybody to go near it again.

“So, where to?” Bruce asked.

“Actually, I really do want to call it.” Steve said. “But don’t let me stop you.” He said.

“Okay. If you’re sure. I don’t know if they are awake, but I really want to see the lions at the MGM. Maybe there’s a bar there?” Bucky asked.

“Sure. Stark Tower is on the way, so we can drop off our wilting flower.” Tony said, gesturing at Steve who brushed him off with a yawn.

The lions, like Steve were tired, but they got a good walk around the hotel, somehow winding up lost in New York New York.

“This is like a bad dream.” Tony said.

“I feel like I have done this before.” Bucky replied as he ate a Nathan’s hotdog and wandered through a strange approximation of Central Park which was neither central, nor a park. “Thank God Steve isn’t here to see this.” He said. “The hotdog’s not bad, though.”

Bucky stumbled back to his room at three o’clock in the morning, tie loose, hair mussed, and grinning from ear to ear.

“Stevie.” He whispered into the darkness. “Hey, Steve.”

“Wha?” Steve asked, still half asleep. “Buck?”

“Sorry.” Bucky giggled. “I won!” He said.

“That’s great, Buck. Tell me about it tomorrow.” Steve said, rolling over. Bucky kicked off his shoes and threw himself down next to Steve.

“Only a hundred dollars, but that’s a hundred more than I had when I woke up!” He said. “Okay. Not exactly because I spent a lot today but it beats a kick in the— Ouch.” Steve had kicked him sharply in the shin.

“I said tomorrow, Bucky. Go to sleep.”

“Asshole.” Bucky said. “But you’re fucking great. I fucking love you so much, Steve. Even when you kick me. No, especially, especially when you kick me. God damn it. You’re the worst.”

“Good. Night. Bucky.” Steve said, rolling over again. Bucky was already snoring.

  
**Steve**

The days blurred together. Money lost. Money spent. Food consumed. Drinks imbibed. They went for a swim and took in a couple of shows and when all was said and done, Steve felt exhausted by the sheer output of it all. Vacations were supposed to be relaxing, weren’t they? He thought to himself the morning of their last day, with some degree of relief. Instead, he was looking forward to returning to New York.

“Wait.” He said, hunched over his computer, yawning into the stillness of the afternoon.

“What?” Tony, Natasha, and Bucky asked in unison.

“I got an email. Has anybody else got an email from the airline?”

“No.” Natasha said, checking her phone. Tony and Bucky pulled their phones from their pockets as well.

“Nope.” Tony said. “They would have to be pretty stupid to send me anything other than a free ticket upgrade and their eternal gratitude after—“

“Aw, shit.” Bucky said. “I did.”

“The flight was overbooked. We got bumped.” Steve said, summarizing the polite, if cold, message.

“Hang on a sec.” Tony said with the pinched expression they each associated with Tony disappearing for days on end and returning with a miraculous invention of modern science. He strode from the room and left them feeling confident that he could handle this. In the interim, Natasha looked between Steve and Bucky with a sly smile. Steve always had the impression that she was a step ahead of him—many steps ahead, if he was honest with himself. Tony reemerged, looking exasperated.

“Well, I couldn’t get you back on the plane.” He said. “But they gave you a discount on your flight tomorrow and apologized _profusely_ . So that’s something. Hang on.” He said again, stretching across the bed for the hotel’s phone. “Yeah. Front desk?” He said. 

“Oh no.” Bucky said with a hollow, unconcerned tone, flopping back on the bed. “Another night of vacation. How will we survive?”

“I don’t know, actually.” Tony said after hanging up. “You can’t keep the suite. Your room is definitely going to be tiny, but it will be free.”

“I think we’ll manage with a free room no matter how small it is. Thanks, Tony.” Steve said.

“You got it.” Tony said. “Oh shit. Is that the time?” They all glanced at the clock. Everyone but Steve and Bucky started making motions to hurry their packing along.

Steve and Bucky accompanied the rest of the gang down to the lobby in a parade of suitcases and duffle bags. Natasha’s things fit neatly into one reasonably small, wheeled black bag. Tony lugged three large suitcases into the elevator with them.

“What did you even bring?” Bruce asked him. “I saw you wear, like, two different suits.” Tony chuckled and gave no other reply, which was even more maddening, leaving the rest of them to wonder.

“Have a safe flight.” Steve said, when they reached the ground floor. The limo driver was already waiting. Steve hugged Natasha and felt for a moment that she was taking away his life jacket in the raging sea that was this place. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for another day?” He asked her.

“Can’t.” She shook her head. “Have to get back to the real world. You, on the other hand, should stay out of the real world for as long as possible. That’s my advice, and I am never wrong.” She said, fixing him with a look that conveyed a meaning that was heavy in a way Steve could not translate completely.

“Okay. No reality. Got it.” He said, nodding.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Tony said. “Actually, let’s take that advice, flip it and reverse it. How about, whenever an opportunity presents itself, you ask yourself _if_ I would do it, and if the answer is yes, then do the thing.”

“That is terrible advice.” Steve said.

“Don’t follow Tony’s advice.” Bruce agreed.

“Remind me again why I’m the one who has to go back and you get to stay and keep partying?” Sam asked.

“Cruel irony.” Steve said as Thor gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Hey Thor. Did we make up for the missing pirates?”

“I believe we did.” Thor said. “I still count this as one of my better vacations. We didn’t get stormed in anywhere. That always seems to happen. Remember when Eyjafjallajökull stranded everybody? That was me” He said with a degree of pride that left them Steve wondering if Thor had somehow been responsible for the erruption.

From across the lobby, Tony called for Natasha to hurry up. She finished her hushed goodbye with Bucky, standing far away from the rest of the group, and left the two of them alone in the vast swirling chaos that was Las Vegas, with all of the trouble that entailed.

“Well?” Bucky asked after they moved from one room to another, slightly smaller room. The art on the walls—if you could call it art—was different, the view less stellar, and the neighbors noisier, but otherwise everything down to the sheets was identical. “What do you want to do?”  
Steve looked around. He felt tempted to order room service and watch TV. There was a part of him that wanted nothing more than to do this to spite their friends. What better way to use their extra day in Vegas than to not use their extra day in Vegas? However, something about the freedom of just Bucky and him, with nobody else to consult or consider, made Steve change his mind.

“Let’s go out.” He said.

“You want to start drinking already? It’s, what, four thirty?” Bucky asked.

“No time like the present, right?” Steve said. “Besides, check out’s at noon tomorrow, right? Our flight’s at one. If we want to do this thing, we better do it right.”

“Do what thing?” The look of suspicion that Bucky gave him raised a sense of nostalgia that made Steve feel fuzzy and weak. He hadn’t given Bucky cause to look at him that way in too long.

“Let’s get into some trouble.” Steve said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello you beautiful and glorious readers! I wrote an alternate POV for the scene where Bucky stumbles into the room after winning a hundred bucks and I feel like it is only right to share it with you.   
> So here it is. 
> 
> At four-thirty in the morning, Steve was blissfully embraced in the arms of sleep and a bed that was comfort itself. He did not hear the door open or the clumsy shuffle of feet. His eyes remained closed, resolute in their desire to stay that way. Steve was asleep. Asleep.   
>  “Stevie.” Bucky’s voice broke through, pulling at those last strings of slumber. “Steve.” Bucky said again. Steve’s eyes opened, severing that last shred of hope. He was awake. Ugh. Awake.   
>  “Wha?” He asked. “Buck?” It could be no one else.  
>  “Sorry.” The voice came from the darkness. It was not really an apology. “I won!” He said.   
>  “That’s great, Buck. Tell me about it tomorrow.” Steve said, rolling over into the sweet coolness of his pillow. The mattress dipped down next to him as Bucky curled up at his side. It was a comfort as much as an annoyance.   
>  “Only a hundred dollars, but that’s a hundred more than I had when I woke up!” Bucky continued to babble. Even exhausted, Steve lived for these late-night talks. He soaked up the way Bucky chatted on about anything at all, finding the profound in the mundane. His quiet exterior melted away in the night. Tonight, however, Steve struggled at that sleep that floated just above his head. He was so nearly there again.   
>  “Okay.” Bucky went on. “Not exactly because I spent a lot today, but it beats a kick in the—“ Steve stretched his leg out behind him and kicked whatever he found, his foot connecting with the bony line of Bucky’s shin. “Ouch.” He said. Steve yawned.   
>  “I said tomorrow, Bucky. Go to sleep.”   
>  “Asshole.” Bucky said fondly. “But you’re fucking great. I fucking love you so much.” Steve felt the words catch in his chest, hitting like a hammer. Bucky didn’t know the impact that they had, or how Steve’s eyes flew open staring across the empty darkness of the room. He didn’t mean it like that.   
>  “Even when you kick me.” Bucky continued. “No. Especially when you kick me. God damn it. You’re the worst.” He could hear the smile, sleepy and worn out, in Bucky’s voice, already drifting into unconsciousness.   
>  “Good night, Bucky.” Steve said, rolling over. He watched his friend’s side rise and fall with steady breath, already fallen into the sleep he stole from Steve.   
> He was going to be awake for hours.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The morning after sequence might be a little hard to read. It features a graphic description of Bucky waking up sore, with a hangover, and failing to remember what happened the night before. If you want to skip over this section, both the beginning and the end are indicated by "**"

Trouble, it turned out, began with Long Island iced tea. Steve and Bucky sat in the lounge at Stark Tower, overlooking the pool and a stretch of the Strip, and tapped their glasses together with a resounding clink. The sound of the final nail in the proverbial coffin.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for the longest time.” Bucky said.

“What?” Steve asked. “Drink things with little umbrellas in them? We could have been doing that, Buck.” Steve said.

“No. Hang out.” Bucky said, throwing his head back. “We haven’t just fucked around, just the two of us, no responsibilities in way too long. Remember when that was all we did?”

Steve tried to recall a time when he and Bucky had been free of responsibility and able to do nothing but drink and party all day. He came up blank. There had never been a time when bills had not needed paying and jobs had not needed to be found or kept. Steve’s medical trouble alone was like a second job. And through it all, Bucky stood steadfast. If he thought of that as a life free of responsibility, Steve was happy to let him believe it to be true.

“Sure, Buck.” He said at length and took another swig of his drink. It was sweet and cold and flowed down his throat with a gentle smoothness that made him swallow down more with little thought to the lightheaded, easy feeling that permeated him.

Another drink, and they were out, wandering through the crowd. People watching in the casinos made for a good laugh. They found themselves at a blackjack table. Twenty one was Bucky’s game. Beside them, a couple held hands, positively beaming at each other.

“Honeymoon?” Steve asked.

“How could you tell?” The woman in the yellow dress asked. “We eloped.” She said with a daring look under her eyes at her new husband.

“Congratulations!” Bucky said with a bit more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary. His third iced tea sat next to him, half finished.

“Thanks.” The lady said while the man’s thumb brushed over the back of her hand. “It all happened so suddenly, but I married my best friend. What more could anybody ask for?” She said, her smile dazzling. Steve felt a rising happiness swell in him. He could understand that feeling, wanting to be with somebody day and night, wanting to share everything with them, and knowing that as long as they are happy everything will be okay. The person he felt that way about sat directly to his left. Steve took another swig of his drink and looked at his cards. They did not win. They did not expect to win, so it was fine.

“That’s just part of the game. In Blackjack, you’ve got a 48 percent chance of beating the house. Those are the best odds in the casino.” Bucky rattled off. “You’ve gotta consider that. Less than fifty percent and that’s the best luck you are going to get.” He trailed off, looking around. “You want to find another game?” He asked.

“With those odds?” Steve asked. “I think I’d rather get another one of these.” He held up his empty glass.

They left the casino and wandered through the street. The light settling around them into the dim haze of a desert sunset. Streetlights glowing just a bit brighter around them. It cast a magical glow on the evening, and Steve felt like he was floating. They made their way to the pyramid and sphinx of the Luxor, settling in among the palm trees.

“Let’s have pina coladas.” Steve suggested, already heading toward the bar.

“Alright, but if you start singing the song, I’m leaving.” Bucky said.

“You’re no fun.” Steve said.

“I am all the fun.” Bucky knocked his shoulder into Steve’s and they swayed with the impact. Steve felt himself light up like the top of the pyramid at the contact. Their drinks were perfectly cold and sugary. The condensation rolled down the icy sides of the glasses, perched on the bar in front of them.

“What do you want to do?” Steve asked.

“I don’t know. I thought you wanted to drink pina coladas. This seems about right.” Bucky shrugged.

“No. I mean in general. With your life?” Steve asked. Bucky threw his head back and ran a hand threw his hair and over his face.

“Oh no, Rogers, you’re not making me think about the real world right now. I am just getting shitfaced with my best friend in a Egypt-themed hotel in Las Vegas. That’s all I want to do with my life right now.” He said, shaking his head. Steve recalled Natasha’s advice about avoiding the real world and its responsibilities. He focused on the drink in front of him, and the way that Bucky’s hands slid slowly up and down the sides of the glass, and shut out all practical thoughts.

“Got it.” He said, raising his glass. “To worrying about tomorrow, tomorrow.” He said.

“Fuck yeah.” Bucky said and toasted Steve.

“I want to go to the castle.” Bucky said as they settled up their bill and headed out of the lounge.

“Of course you do.” Steve said, shaking his head. “It’s like Disneyland, but for gambling and drinking.”

“You understand me.” Bucky said, throwing an arm around Steve’s shoulders as they walked over to the next hotel.

“As much as anybody can.” Steve said. 

They drank beer. Although they were too late for the jousting and the feast, they had no trouble finding alcohol.

“Too bad we didn’t make it here with Thor.” Bucky said. “I get the feeling he would have loved this.”

“Yeah.” Steve agreed, head swimming just a little. “To Thor. May he never become casual in his use of the English language.” They toasted again and drained the last of their tankards.

“Where to next?”

The night began to blur in a wonderful, exhilarating way. They went wherever their whims took them, content to throw themselves into whatever came next.

The club was dark and loud. They threw back shots and slammed the glasses down on the bar in unison. Steve laughed and slapped his hand on Bucky’s chest.

“What?” Bucky asked, catching Steve’s laughter.

“It’s just.” Steve started, “We’re in Vegas. _Las Vegas,_ Buck! We could do anything. We could get married!”

“You want to?” Bucky asked.

“Why the hell not?” Steve said, dragging Bucky across the dance floor. Steve could feel the heavy bass under his feet, matching the vibrations within him. He put his arms on Bucky’s shoulders and swayed into him. “It’s a fucking great idea.”  He yelled over the music.

“Yeah!” Bucky yelled back, grabbing Steve’s hips and pulling him closer. He rolled his body and slid his hands up Steve’s sides. He leaned in close to Steve’s ear. “Let’s do it.” He said. Steve stepped closer to Bucky, crowding into his space, and caught his lower lip between his own, only for a moment, before grabbing his hand and pulling him off the dance floor toward the door.

“Wait!” Bucky yelled. Steve felt something, hot and scraping, grind to a halt inside him. Had Bucky changed his mind? Had Steve betrayed the secret he had kept so well hidden for years? Was the game finally played out?

“I have to settle the tab.” Bucky said before catching Steve with one large, calloused hand firmly on the back of his neck to bring their faces together in a desperate kiss.

“This is the best bad idea you have ever had, Stevie. Don’t go anywhere.” Bucky said. Steve couldn’t look away as Bucky retreated into the crowd.

 

The chapel was more like a factory than a church. They watched the wedding party before theirs leave and were ushered inside in a streamlined process. The service was standard, but each word rang in Steve’s head like a bell, resounding through him with all the gravity and permanence it required.   
He could not look away from Bucky’s face, every one of his features set on a serious expression that slipped into that goofy grin, just like when they went to church together as kids. Some things never change, Steve thought.

“Do you, James Buchanan Barnes, take Steven Grant Rogers to be your lawfully wedded husband?”  
Bucky’s eyes found Steve’s and he saw the peace and truth in them.

“I do, you punk.” He said.

“And do you, Steven Grant Rogers take James Buchanan Barnes to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“Of course I do. Jerk.” Steve said, looking up at Bucky from under his lashes.

A pair of simple gold wedding bands added weight that felt right like nothing else could.

They signed their names, and Steve felt as if something he lost had finally been found. He felt like he was coming home.

 

They arrived back at the hotel, although Steve could not have said how. Bucky had not let go of his hand since the ceremony, his thumb sliding back and forth across Steve’s new ring.

“You shining it up for me?” Steve asked, looking down at their intertwined hands as the elevator rose to their floor.

“There are a lot of other things I want to do for you, too.” Bucky said with a sly smirk.

“Is that so?” Steve said. Bucky nodded and nudged Steve back against the elevator wall, nuzzling into his neck. He breathed in deep and pressed a slow, wet kiss right behind Steve’s ear. It sent a shiver through Steve, his hands clenched on the bar behind him. A bright ding filled the silence, announcing their arrival. They stumbled into the hallway together and then to their room.

“You know what we should do?” Steve said while Bucky pulled a small bottle of whiskey from the minibar.

“What?” He asked.

“We should write ourselves notes.” Steve said, taking the bottle that Bucky offered. It warmed him all the way through as he swallowed his sip. He reached for the pad of paper and the pen laid out on the bed side table and wrote _Drunk Steve makes good choices. Sober Steve is a DUMBASS._

It felt like catharsis. Simple, if inelegant. How long had he been harboring this crush on Bucky? How long could he have had him? If only he had gotten drunk enough to propose! He thought, while doodling hearts and bottles and a sketch of the little white chapel where they sealed the deal.   
Bucky took the notepad from him when he was done and added his own two cents.

_Sober Bucky, plz stay married this is the best idea EVER!_

Steve read the note over his shoulder and let out a laugh like a bark.

“You really think so?” He asked.

“Oh yeah.” Bucky said. “But I might have to get a better look at you to be sure.”

Quicker than blinking, Steve threw his shirt away, revealing the long lines of muscle beneath. From there, disrobing was a desperate race to lose every scrap of fabric on their bodies as fast as possible, throwing them somewhere out of the way.

They collapsed together in a tangle of limbs on the bed, lips pressed together, moving in tandem as if they had done this their whole lives. Steve pressed his hips into Bucky’s, searching for friction, and felt him, hard and long and hot, against his thigh. It felt right and good and he didn’t know what he wanted except that he wanted Bucky.

“Mmh, Buck.” Steve said.

“Yeah?” Bucky panted.

“Are we doing this?” Steve asked.

“It’s our wedding night, isn’t it?” Bucky said, drawing back slightly to watch Steve. “I want to.” He said after a moment’s silence.

“Good.” Steve said, lips pressed just under Bucky’s jaw. “So do I.” He reached down, sliding his hand along Bucky’s chest and down his abdomen, to the thick, rough patch of hair and lower. Bucky let out a soft panting sound when Steve’s fist closed gently around Bucky’s cock, already leaking.

“Is this what you want?” Steve asked, moving his hand while Bucky’s breathing grew ragged.

“No.” Bucky breathed out after a moment. Steve’s hand stilled immediately. He backed away across the bed.

“Oh god, Bucky. I’m—“ But Bucky had already pushed Steve onto his back, crowding down above him and pressing a kiss to his neck.

“This is what I want.” He said, sliding down Steve’s body. Their eyes locked as his lips closed around Steve. It was better than anything Steve had imagined or felt. Sure, he had experienced a fair amount of fellatio in his lifetime, but they paled in comparison to the sheer, unadulterated enthusiasm with which Bucky took to this task. His tongue, hands, lips, and throat worked together expertly.

“Ah!” Steve’s breath caught in his chest while Bucky’s tongue ran along the underside of Steve’s cock and he brought Steve’s hand to the back of his head, their fingers laced together over the curvature of Bucky’s head. Bucky bobbed his head up and down, picking up speed and moaning when Steve responded with shallow thrusts, too wound up to hold back.

“Aw fuck.” Steve panted from above. Bucky’s free hand worked at the base of Steve’s cock in rhythm with his mouth. “Bucky—“ Steve panted. “Oh, Buck.” He moaned above the wet, obscene sounds. “I wanna fuck you.” Steve said, thumb caressing the back of Bucky’s neck. “Want to so bad, Bucky.” Bucky moaned, low and deep in his throat, sending waves of vibration through Steve’s cock. His legs tensed up around Bucky, feet and knees sliding up and down his sides and he writhed beneath him. “Oh Jesus. Oh. Fuck.” Steve panted. “Buck, you’re gonna make me—You gotta stop, babe.” Steve said.

Bucky pulled off slowly, lips flushed red to match Steve’s neck and chest. He smirked up at him and Steve felt a different kind of heat engulf him, different to the fiery hotness from the alcohol or the sweaty warmth radiating from Bucky’s body and his own. What he felt came from his core, solid and inescapable. He could be encased in ice for a hundred years and feel it.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked. Even with his lips parted, hair disheveled, looking the picture of debauchery, Steve saw that there was nothing else in Bucky’s eyes. Just as Bucky was for Steve, Steve was everything for Bucky in that moment.

“I’m happy.”

“That must be terrible for you.” Bucky said, rolling his eyes.

“Shut up and kiss me, jerk.”

“Get over here and do it yourself, punk.”

Steve chased Bucky’s mouth down and tasted a trace of himself there. He closed his eyes, giving himself over to the feeling, Bucky’s tongue brushed lightly against his lips, his hands wandered around his shoulders and neck.

They pulled apart and rested, forehead to forehead, breath coming in heavy waves, synchronized and sweet. Steve was not sure he could have made himself look away from Bucky’s eyes for anything in the world.

“A minute ago,” Bucky started, something darker, needier, creeping into his expression, “You said you wanted to…” He trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished. Steve had been wrong. This was a reason for which he could bare to brake Bucky’s gaze.

“Yeah.” Steve said. He launched out of the bed and felt the room tilt underneath him. Bucky laughed. Steve found everything he needed in his bag, all laid out carefully exactly where he left it so long ago when something like this seemed far away and imaginary. Part of him held onto the belief that it could not be real, even now, with Bucky stretched out, naked in bed with a shiny new ring on his finger, waiting for him. Something this good could hardly have happened, could it? But then he heard Bucky’s voice.

“Gonna take all night there, Stevie?”

“Maybe.” Steve said, turning around and returning to bed with a slow, measured purpose. Partially, he enjoyed tormenting Bucky, always had. On the other hand, moving slowly reduced the risk of falling or dropping things. He made it back to the bed and dropped condoms and lube next to Bucky, eyes fixed on him.

“Tell me you want it.” He said.

“I want it, Stevie.” Bucky said, looking up at Steve, hands coming up to pull Steve down onto the bed with him. “I’m yours now. All yours. Just yours.” Bucky babbled between kisses to Steve’s neck, his collar bone, his chest. “Take me.” He whispered.

Steve drizzled lube onto his hand, and rubbed them together to warm it before reaching for Bucky’s hole. Bucky spread his legs wider to allow Steve access and threw his head back. Starting slow with one finger, Steve pushed his way into Bucky, feeling the tightness and heat envelop him. He leaned over Bucky to watch his face, eyes closed, an unabashed smile stretched out across his features while Steve’s hand worked. He added another finger and saw Bucky’s eyebrows draw together, that crease forming in the middle of his forehead, a sharp inhalation of breath followed.

“Fuck.” He whispered. “Yeah.” He said a moment later. “Oh god, more.” He said, louder. “More, Steve. Stevie, please.” He rocked back into Steve’s hand and pulled his head down, crushing their lips together. Steve moaned into Bucky’s mouth. He was so hard.

“Steve.” Bucky said again. “Please.” Steve smiled against the side of Bucky’s mouth, fingers moving ceaselessly inside Bucky.

“Please, what?” He asked, although there was no question in his mind of what Bucky was asking.   
“Please do it. Stick it in me Steve. I need your cock. You’ve gotta give it to me.” Bucky continued to ramble. Steve pulled out as gently as he could, brushing against Bucky’s prostate once again for good measure and earning a gasp from him before reaching for a condom. Just rolling it on provided an unprecedented relief for his neglected, desperate erection. He moaned softly, pumping his hand just a few times. He lined himself up and felt the extra, steadying hand that Bucky leant him as he pushed in slowly.

“Auh.” Steve breathed out, somewhere between a sigh and a moan. Ten crescent indentations marked themselves into Steve’s shoulders as Bucky gripped him tight while Steve settled above him. That smile, pure euphoria, was back on Bucky’s face when Steve began moving above him and inside of him.

Steve hitched one of Bucky’s legs up over his shoulder and picked up his pace, finding a rhythm that made Bucky scream with each roll of his hips. He turned his face to the side and pressed a kiss to the inside of Bucky’s knee. Bucky threaded a hand through his hair and pulled just enough, urging him on faster. Steve felt the beads of sweat roll down the sides of his face, pool at the back of his neck. His hips snapped forward with merciless intent now, finding their target with each thrust.

Bucky’s shouts were unintelligible, but the meaning was perfectly clear. Steve could not have stopped if he wanted to.

“Ah, Jesus.” Steve panted. “Oh God.” He felt the spiraling energy begin to form, familiar and somehow entirely new. Steve had never felt something so good, all the way from the top of his head to his curling toes, all that mattered was Bucky and this moment and that they keep moving just like this. Steve pushed on, harder and faster, earning more cries and scratches along his back and shoulders.

He felt Bucky tense around him and it was over. A sea of blinding white flooded his vision, echoing sounds that shorted out on their way from his ears to his brain, and then it came crashing down around him again. Steve rode out the last of his orgasm, feeling Bucky beneath him, spent and limp, breath slowing and moans returning to pants, returning to quiet, shallow breaths.

******

**Bucky**

He woke smiling. That smile faded as Bucky’s body followed his mind into wakefulness, taking account of the ache that settled across him like a weight. Although he had not yet opened his eyes, the light that traveled through his eyelids was too much. He felt sick. Bucky rolled over and pressed his face into the pillow, feeling the world swoop around him in concert with his stomach.

“Uh.” He breathed. His breath smelled like hell. The movement of his torso awoke a new kind of ache. He had a hazy recollection of… no. He thought. There had been a dream, something fuzzy last night between the pina coladas and the shots, but…

Just the thought of alcohol set Bucky’s stomach into a rolling boil that launched him from bed and sent him flying to the bathroom just in time. He curled over the toilet, naked, clutching at the seat while his stomach emptied its contents of everything it could. When he was done he rested his head against his hand, breathing deeply to steady himself for the long trek back to bed.

And then he saw it: a glimmer, shining just a bit too brightly on his left hand. Bucky stared, mystified, at the band of gold around his ring finger, his lips curling up in a smile until he heaved once more.   
He used the whole sample of mouthwash that the hotel provided and rinsed his head under the tap.

Only then did he make eye contact with himself in the mirror. There were scratches along his chest, bites and hickies down his neck, and his hair was a mess the likes of which he had never before achieved. It shocked him more than the ring, which felt good on his hand, smooth and heavy. Bucky took a deep breath and prepared to return to the hotel room and whoever was in it—assuming someone was still there.

He recognized that shape in the tangle of blankets instantly. It was just Steve. Bucky breathed out a sigh of relief, and leaned against the wall. Or. Oh. Wait. His brain ground to a standstill.

“Steve.” Bucky said from across the room. “Steve, wake up.”

“Hmm?” Steve said, then yawned. “Aw, fuck.” He said at last, with a groan. “Jesus. What did we?” The silence hung heavy between them. “Shit.” Steve said.

Bucky pushed himself away from the wall, afraid he might melt into it if he stayed there too long. Each step he took felt heavier than the last. Something inside him felt disconnected, floating, and not all bad.

“Do you remember?” Bucky asked. Steve rubbed at his eyes, and what Bucky saw there allowed the puzzle pieces to slide together and lock into place. Steve wore a ring that matched his own. He sat up in bed, the sheets crumpled around his torso, bare except for traces of scratches around his shoulders and, oh god, bruises peeking out above his hips.

“Sort of?” Steve spoke as if it were a question. Bucky had no answers. Not really.   
Steve stood up and looked around the room, beginning the search for clothes, strewn about in a careless mess. Boxers near the bed, shirts somewhere by the door. Reconstructing the night through muscle memory.

They both looked down, giving into the shame that settled on them like a dense cloud, and both sets of eyes fell on a condom lying next to the bed at their feet.

“Oh.” Steve said. “So that definitely happened.”

“Yeah. My ass could have told you that.” Bucky said.

******

Bucky picked up an empty bottle of vodka. “This is going to cost a fortune.” He said, shaking his head. The bizarre worry, so unnecessary in the face of their mysterious circumstances, forced a laugh from them both.

“At least you’ve got your priorities in order.” Steve said. “Hmm.” He mused, surprised. Then silence. Steve stood with his back to Bucky, wearing last night’s underwear, pouring over a piece of paper that he pulled from the pocket of his jacket.

“What?” Bucky asked. “Steve?” Steve turned around, face flushed, extending an official looking document to Bucky, who took it with shaky hands.

Stuck to the page, on hotel stationary, were scribbled notes. Bucky recognized his own scratchy handwriting nestled next to Steve’s loopy script. Neither was neat.   
  
**Best Idea EVERRR**  
_U could hve done this YEARS AGO.  
**You lovvvee each other.  
** Just in case you don’t remmembr: U got married.  
_**The sex was awesome. MOAR SEX!**  
_Agreed._

Underneath the note, which Bucky read three times over to verify before moving on, was a very real, very legitimate looking marriage certificate with both of their names.

“Oh no.” Bucky said. “Steve. I am sorry.” He felt his legs give out, falling onto the bed behind him, cradling his face in his hands.

“You’re—what?” Steve asked, face falling. “Buck. No. I’m—“ He started, at a loss for words.

Bucky felt his world come crashing down on him from all sides. This was it. No more Steve. His friends would definitely side with Steve, and rightly so. Could they get this annulled, or would they have to file for divorce when they got back to Brooklyn? Oh god. He was going to have to move out of their apartment. Bucky felt sick in a whole new way that had nothing to do with how much he had to drink the night before. Steve watched Bucky’s face go through this process with his own expression of distress before taking a deep breath and starting over.

“I screwed up.” Steve said.

“No—“ Bucky tried to tell him.

“Let me apologize, please.” Steve spoke over him. “I’ve been in love with you for years. Since we were kids. I’ve always loved you, but, you know, there is a difference between that and being _in love._ I used to think there was something wrong with me, because I never felt this way about anybody else. I always wanted something more with you. And when you started dating, and it hurt, Bucky. It was terrible. But I realized that it was better to be in your life and not be with you the way I wanted, than to miss you all the time. I figured I could just be your friend.” Steve’s eyes shone, his hands open at his sides like an offering.   
  
“And then it did get better, eventually. I thought everything was okay and I had figured out how to be your friend without wanting anything else… but lately. Oh god, Bucky. I’m so sorry.”

Bucky felt like his brain was processing things at half-speed. Everything Steve said made sense, but the words failed to connect in his mind. Steve could not possibly have been in love with him for years. All that time that Bucky had swooned, followed him around like a puppy, worried himself sick over Steve, and in the meantime, Steve had thought his feelings were unrequited? Bucky shook his head.

“Well?” Steve asked. “Are you going to say anything?” He hung his head, a look of resignation in his eyes. “I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive.” Bucky said, feeling lighthearted in a way he had forgotten he could. “Steve, did it ever occur to you that I might have been feeling the same way?” Bucky asked, his voice hardly more than a whisper.

“You? Really?” Steve asked.

“Yeah.” Bucky said, smiling sheepishly. “For a few years now, I guess.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Steve asked. Bucky shrugged.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Fair point.”

A nervous quiet settled around them, filling their air and the space between them with a thousand things they could not find the words for. Bucky watched the careful way Steve’s face remained stoic, his jaw clenched to hold back any emotion that might slip through and betray him. Even his breathing was measured and purposeful, but this was Steve, and Bucky knew him better than every thought he had ever had, better than his own mind.

“We’re going to be okay.” Bucky said. “I am, if you are.” The fingers of his right hand found the ring on his left and touched it softly, feeling the metal, strange but good. Steve watched Bucky’s hands and then looked down at his own. When his eyes returned to Bucky’s, it was with a longing no longer hidden by any of the walls Steve once put up between them.

“You want to give this a shot?” He asked.

“I mean,” Bucky said, “Technically, we’re already married.”

This kiss was unlike any other that Bucky could recall. With a gentle insistence, they found each other, stepping forward and meeting in the middle. Steve’s lips were soft and full, so warm that Bucky’s eyes closed at the touch without thought. He held Steve’s waist tight, never wanting to let go, afraid that it might end and disappear. However, at the same time, he was aware of, perhaps even elated by, the permanence of it all. He could have this any time he wanted. Steve was his for the kissing.

Steve’s hand found Bucky’s jaw, a light caress of fingers against his stubble, up toward his ear. He did not drive them forward or steer them in any direction, it was just a simple touch; holding on because he could. It made Bucky melt.

They parted by a fraction of an inch to breathe and to watch each other’s reactions, no longer marred by the hazy fog of alcohol or unrestrainable lust. For once, it was Steve and Bucky, as they always had been, finally allowed to be as they were.

 

The flight home was easier. Bucky felt the flutter of terror as the wheels left the ground and his body was pressed into the seat, but he held Steve’s hand and this time there was no pretext necessary. He did it because he could and because he wanted to. When Steve left his side to find the tiny bathroom at the back of the plane the ring on Bucky’s finger held his place.

Bucky followed Steve through the airport toward the baggage check with a settled feeling, like waking from a good dream. As they stood, watching the carousel go around, watching for their bags, he voiced the words that felt as if they belonged to someone else.

“Are we going to tell them?”

“Who?” Steve asked, surprised.

“Our friends.” Bucky answered, equally anxious and amused by the prospect.

“I think they’ll figure it out one way or another.” Steve said, reaching into the river of bags to retrieve Bucky’s.

Bucky’s phone buzzed a moment later.

“Hello?”

“Hey.” Natasha’s voice responded, sounding bright. “Did you get in okay?”

“Yeah. Just grabbing our bags now.” He said. “Good. We’re here to pick you up.”

“Really?” Bucky asked, phone held to one ear as he and Steve wheeled their bags behind them and turned a corner. “Okay, we’re at—“ And then he saw them. Natasha stood next to Clint beaming at the two of them. Sam, Tony, Thor, and Bruce were with them as well. The group was large enough to find without much trouble, but the spectacle was highlighted by the balloons and a deafening blast from noise makers that sounded when they came into view.

“I think they know.” Steve said.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, still holding his phone, eyeing the “congratulations!” balloons. “I think so.”

Natasha ran toward them, darting through the crowd while Bucky’s senses finally initiated contact with his brain again.

“So.” Steve said, his expression steely. “I called you in a panic this morning, and your best plan of action was to roll out a wedding reception in the middle of JFK?”

“What? You didn’t exactly give me time to plan.” She said. Steve dropped his serious look for a smile and wrapped his arms around Natasha. “I hope you know this doesn’t let you off the hook.” She said when he released her. “We are going to celebrate this properly. Grocery store cake and a surprise at the airport does not begin to cut it.”

“In case you don’t remember, celebrating is what got us into this in the first place.” Bucky said, accepting her hug in turn.

“Then you ought to be thanking me.” She said.   
As the rest of the group gathered around, sharing congratulations or surprise—a general consensus of “We left you alone for _one day_!” swept through them—Bucky felt the remaining dregs of worry drain away.   


**Steve**

That night, Steve felt as if nothing important had changed at all. Exhausted from travel and a dinner that Stark had insisted was mandatory, Steve and Bucky returned home at the end of the day with a feeling of gratitude that only comes after one has left for some time.

They had only been gone for a few days altogether, but it felt like so much more. It was so much more, Steve thought, as he fell into his spot on the couch next to Bucky. Bucky sighed heavily and moved closer to Steve resting his weight against him while they shared a bowl of popcorn and flipped mindlessly though channels that neither of them truly watched. Each of Steve’s senses was occupied by Bucky— he could just see his changing expressions out of the corner of his eye. His laugh consumed Steve’s world whenever it boomed through their living room. He smelled clean from the shower and distinctly familiar in the best way. Most intoxicating and thrilling, however, was the way that their knuckles brushed against each other, or how more of their sides pressed against each other, supportive, until it felt as if they held up each other’s worlds.

None of this was new to Steve. This was his nightly ritual, to be as close to Bucky as Bucky would allow, and to bask in it.

Steve turned his head, and without far to go, pressed a kiss to Bucky’s cheek. Simple. Chaste. Something they hadn’t had time to consider or explore before, but as he leaned back and observed the smile that spread across Bucky’s face, he realized it hardly mattered. They had time to explore all of it now.   
Bucky turned and returned the kiss with one of his own, landing on Steve’s lips.

“Hey.” Bucky said when they parted, glancing at the clock by the door. “I think we have been married for twenty-four hours.” It was the way Bucky phrased it, the words “I think” catching in his mind, and for a moment they weighed heavy there.

Steve considered all of their inside jokes, the way Bucky knew Steve’s thoughts before Steve knew them himself, how Bucky watched over him through every bout of pneumonia when they were kids and patched him up after every fight. He followed Bucky through schools and jobs and never once questioned where they were going or looked back. He never would.

“We have been married for a long time.” Steve said.

                                                  


End file.
